


The Weaver's Bridegroom

by Beetle Brownleaf (monsterlover)



Series: Brownleaf Faerie Tales [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, Fluff, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24714742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterlover/pseuds/Beetle%20Brownleaf
Summary: A tale loosely based on Rumpelstiltskin, featuring Emet-Selch and my Lalafell WoL Beetle. Enjoy! :)
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Series: Brownleaf Faerie Tales [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786897
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	The Weaver's Bridegroom

There was once a poor young maiden, whose mother and father had unfortunately passed away some years back. She was of marrying age, but alas, having no fortune and no family, she had no means of securing a suitable spouse. 

She would make her living through her various alchemical cures and concoctions, and her knack for weaving and mending clothes. She was moderately successful, and all around came to see her wares. She became even more skilled at pedaling them, and one day she bragged that she could spin straw into gold.

Though this was merely a jest, this caught the attention of a rich, greedy young man, who offered her everything she could have ever wanted - including marriage - if she successfully turned his barn full of straw into gold. In her desperation for a better life, she foolishly accepted, only for her folly to truly set in when she sat in the barn, all by her lonesome, surrounded by countless barrels of straw.

"Oh, what shall I do? I cannot truly weave straw into gold - surely he will not only reject me, but drag my name throughout all the city. No one shall purchase my wares. I shall never eat again!" she despaired, hanging her head.

She then suddenly heard a clicking of the tongue, which caused her to jump.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," the voice said, "Bitten off more than we can chew, have we, little one?"

She looked all around, seeing nothing.

"Up here."

She averted her gaze upwards, and was startled to find a man in a rather strange looking hooded cape and waistcoat sitting up on the rafters.

"Wh-who are you?" she asked, bewildered.

"You may call me Emet-Selch."

"That's... a rather strange name."

He clicked his tongue again.

"Tis not my name," he replied, "It is my title. I am a servant of Lord Zodiark, the ancient fae king of the Darkness."

She blinked.

"I thought Zodiark was a myth," she said, "Just a story to tell children not run into the forest at night. What could a servant of a myth possibly do to help me?"

He barked out a hearty laugh, coming down from the rafters.

"Hah!" he said, "Allow me to show you."

He snapped his fingers, and all the straw in the room suddenly turned to spools of gold. She gasped.

"Oh! You can do this?!" she exclaimed.

He waved his finger, tutting.

"Ah-ah," he said, snapping once more, reverting the gold back to straw, "Not without payment. Fae magic comes at a price, my dear." 

Her face fell.

"I have no money," she said, "If I had any, I would not be here in the first place."

He gave a devilish grin, pulling down his hood as he stepped into the sunlight. She gasped at how darkly handsome he was; tall and perfect, with dark, white-streaked rosewood hair, a statuesque face, and golden yellow eyes. 

"It is not with money that I would have you pay," he said, with a low laugh.

She swallowed.

"What is it that you want, then?" she said.

He approached slowly, and she jumped when he took her chin in his hand, turning her head.

"A lock of that beautiful hair of yours," he said, "Just a small one."

"That… seems a strange price," she said, "But I will pay it. Here."

She braided and tied off a small lock, took out her sewing shears, and cut it.

"Yes, excellent," he said, looking at it as he cradled it in his hand. He let it go, and it disappeared into a shimmer of purple sparks.

“Thank you-- ah…?”

“Beetle,” she said, “My name is Beetle.”

“A peculiar name, but not the strangest I have heard,” he said, “Alright. Straw to gold, as you have paid for.”

He snapped again, and she marvelled at the glittering display all around her.

“My goodness,” she breathed, “Is this all real?”

“Oh, quite,” he replied, “Touch it, you will see.”

Indeed, when she unravelled one of the spools, she could feel the weight of what was surely purest gold.

“Astounding…” she remarked, turning to him “Thank you. You have saved me.”

Emet-Selch laughed, tilting his head.

“How so, little one?

“I shall be married to the man who requested this from me. But _only_ if I fulfill his request,” she said, “Now I will live in comfort and happiness, and never need to toil to eat again.”

He raised his brows.

“Marriage? I see,” he said, “Do you love this man?”

Beetle’s mouth hung open, having no true answer to give him.

“Well… no,” she admitted, “But I am certain that I shall grow to love him. He has been… agreeable, thus far.”

He smirked.

“Oh indeed,” he said, “Only an _agreeable_ man asks a poor maiden to spin straw into gold.”

She glared at him.

“Do not pass judgement over me. I do what I must to survive.”

“Ah! I meant no offense,” he said, throwing his hands up in resignation, “Do as you will. I have received my payment; what you do with my magic from here on out is none of my concern.”

He gave a mirthful laugh, crossing his arms and gazing at her.

“Ah, but I am certain you will make a lovely wife,” he said, “Well. Until next time, bride-to-be.”

“Yes, goodbye,” she said, bowing.

He snapped, and the same shimmer of sparks took him away, just as it did the lock of her hair.

* * *

The next morning, the rich man was overjoyed to find his barn full of gold.

“My bride!” he said, “We shall be married the next moon--”

“Oh yes, my lord--”

“--and until then, you can keep spinning your gold for me!”

Her face fell, eyes wide with fear as the breath caught in her lungs.

“I… you wish for _more?”_

“Well of course!” he said, “But, that should be no difficult task for you, yes? After all, you did all of this in only a day. Think of how rich we shall be if you continue working for a moon more!”

She managed a false smile as he embraced her, her heart sinking.

* * *

As she was shut up in the newly-filled barn the next morning, she began to cry.

But no sooner did the tears fall to the ground did she hear a familiar voice ringing within her ears.

“Mm, things not going quite to plan, eh?”

She ran to him, pulling at the hem of his tunic.

“Emet-Selch!” she said, “Please, I beg of you, help me again. I will pay your price. Take my entire head of hair if you must. Just tell me that you will help me.”

He shook his head, clicking his tongue once again.

“My, my, my. How unseemly,” he said, “I am afraid that is not the price I shall require this time. You see, I cannot accept the same price more than once.”

He put his finger to his chin.

“But what shall I charge you now?” he said, looking down at her tear streaked face, “Ah!”

Another snap, and a small vial appeared.

“Give me your tears,” he said, “Just enough to fill this. Then gold you shall have once more.”

She hurriedly took it from him, tilting her head to allow her desperate sobs to fill the vial.

“Shall this do?” she said, handing it to him. He held it up to the sunlight and inspected it. 

“Oh yes, indeed it shall,” he said, “Alright, here you are.”

A snap, and the room was filled with spools of gold once more.

Beetle looked all around her, collapsing on her knees before him. 

“Thank you,” she said, “I am so very grateful for your help. But…”

She sniffled, and her tears came in earnest once again.

“He expects me to continue to spin gold until we marry,” she explained, “A _moon_ from now. Whatever shall I do, Emet-Selch?”

He laughed.

“Oh, you mortals!” he said, “Your reach always exceeds your grasp.”

She looked up at him, tearfully.

“Please,” she begged.

Emet-Selch looked down at her, giving a sympathetic look.

“Ohh, come now. Tis not so hopeless. I can help,” he said, his gaze growing dark, “If you are willing to pay the price.”

“Yes, yes, anything,” she said, “Whatever it is, it shall be yours. Anything you ask. Every day, until I am to be wed.”

He nodded.

"Very well," he said, "I shall return tomorrow then."

She wiped at her eyes with her apron.

"I--" she began, "Yes, I suppose so."

"What is it, little one?" he asked, folding his arms.

"Must you go right this minute?" she said, "I-I know you must be very busy, but… it does get quite lonely here. I would not mind your company, if you can spare it."

The request admittedly struck him somewhere tender, and he could not help but smile.

"I am flattered, but I am not nearly as busy as you think I am," he said, summoning a seat beneath him, "Very well, little one. I will stay, if only to grace you with my dazzling presence."

"Thank you, Emet-Selch," she said, "By the way… what exact does your title _mean?"_

He took in a deep breath, putting his hands behind his head as he relaxed.

"Nothing you would understand," he answered, "The fae have very odd ways. Odd, old, forgotten ways."

"I see," she said, "So, why is it that you cannot use your own name instead?"

"It belongs to Zodiark," he said, matter-of-factly, "That is how fae work. You give them your name, and it is theirs to use, and no others’ - not even yours. I could not tell it to you even if I wished to.”

Beetle’s brows knitted together in concern.

“That seems cruel,” she said, “Whatever happened to you to put you in his servitude?”

A pause, his eyes turning away as the thoughts formed in his head.

“I gave it up willingly,” he said, with a sad smile, “My name, my freedom, my sorcery - all to save a person I cared about a great deal.”

Her expression softened.

“Oh,” she said, “From what?”

His smile pulled up into a thinner, tighter one.

“They were betrothed to another,” he said, “An arranged marriage to a cruel individual. They did not love me in the way I loved them, but it was… unbearable to watch. Their betrothed was a very rich and powerful individual, and I--”

He gave her a glance.

“Well, I was not. My sorcery was but simple conjury and charms; nothing I could use to free the one I loved. And so I begged Lord Zodiark to free them,” he said, “In exchange for my name, and my simple mortal life.”

Her brows raised.

“Oh, so you were mortal?”

“Indeed, I was,” he said, “But that was a very, very long time ago.”

“So then, what happened to the one you loved?”

He took in a deep breath.

“They were freed. Their betrothed had a very sudden… _change_ of heart,” he said, with a smirk, “And thus was my friend free to marry the one they truly loved.”

Beetle tilted her head.

“Wait, but you said they did not love you…?”

“And they did not. Not in that way. But they loved another, and they were now free to marry them,” he said, “That was all I wished for. I merely wanted them to be happy.”

“But,” she said, her voice sad, “You did all that for them… sacrificed your freedom… and they did not care?”

That same mirthful laugh again, long and low, his head thrown back.

“They did not _know,_ ” he replied, “As far as they knew, their betrothed truly did have a change of heart.”

A tear ran down Beetle’s cheek.

“But that’s so sad,” she said, “You did not tell them…?”

He shrugged.

“I did not do it so they would know that I had. I did it so they could be free,” he said.

“But… you gave everything… your name, your life…”

He sighed, leaning forward to rest his chin on his fist.

“Oh, you are a sensitive one, aren’t you,” he said, “I should have given you a bigger vial to fill.”

She made a face at him, offended.

“Ah, I do not intend to make fun,” he said, “I have had eons to come to terms with it. It simply is what it is. There is inherent risk in making dealings with fae, and I merely paid the price. Remember what I said? Fae magic comes at a price. _All_ fae magic.”

She swallowed.

“Then where does that leave _me?_ ”

His smile grew wide and sinister, teeth flashing above wine-dark lips. 

“In a _very_ risky situation,” he purred, with another laugh.

* * *

The rich man was, once again, very happy to see his barn full of gold, and insisted that Beetle now move her work into a wing of his mansion. It was a lovely place, she had to admit, and much more comfortable than the barn. He gave her nicer clothes to wear, a more comfortable seat in which to work, and a brand new spinning wheel. However, it was also larger, and he provided her with even more straw with which to turn into gold. She worried what this could mean, but put on a brave face as he closed the doors.

And waited.

“Ah,” the all-too-familiar voice crooned, “My my. Your problems seem only to grow.”

She sighed.

“What shall the price be today?” she said, flatly.

“Oh come now, do not look so sullen,” he said, “But this _is_ more work, and therefore must require a bigger payment. Hmm.”

He glanced at her dress, noting its fine make and materials.

“That ribbon around your dress shall do for today.”

She gave him a confused look.

“That is all?” she said, “Well, alright then.”

She took it off and handed it to him, and he turned the straw to gold, as promised. She sighed and slumped back into her chair. 

“Twenty-six more days to go,” she said, “Goodness. While I am thankful for your help, I do grow tired of the waiting. I wish I could simply give him a moon’s worth of gold at once to satisfy him.”

Emet-Selch laughed, a long, almost unhinged cackle.

“Ah, little one,” he said, “Rich men are _never_ satisfied.”

She nodded, her eyes closing.

“Ah, very true,” she said, “Very true.”

They were quiet for a long moment, until he softly addressed her.

“What is it that plagues you, little one?”

She looked up at him.

“Your tale… it made me think about… things,” she said, “And… I am not certain I wish to marry anymore.”

His lips parted, his face softening significantly.

“Regardless, I shall,” she said, “There are no other options for me. Were I to reject him…”

She suddenly shook her head.

“Nay, forget what I said. There is little point in regretting my choices. I have already made them.”

Emet-Selch felt a pang in his heart, and opened his mouth to speak, but he decided better of it. 

“As you wish,” he said, “Would you like me to stay with you today?”

She nodded, with a weak smile.

“Yes please,” she said, “I have a question for you, besides.”

“Oh?” he said, “And what is that?”

“Well,” she began, “I was wondering… since you cannot say your name… what would happen if someone else did?”

“An astute question,” he said, “The answer is quite simple: I would be unbound from my contract with Lord Zodiark.”

“But you see, it is impossible,” he continued, “Only Lord Zodiark may use my name, and only he may return it to me.”

Beetle’s nose scrunched up.

“So you are completely at his mercy?”

“Well, no, not completely; if somehow, someone happened to guess my name correctly, then I would still be unbound. Of course, this is a nigh-impossible feat; there are billions of names in the world. You could not go through every single kind of name in even two lifetimes. And I cannot give you any hint or clue as to what my name is.”

Her eyes cast downwards, her face falling.

“I see,” she said, softly.

He gave another laugh, shaking his head at her with a smirk.

“You are welcome to try, if it makes you feel better,” he said, “But please, do not feel sad for me. I am happy with my existence. Tis great fun, in all honesty. I can do things nobody else can do. I have no need for nourishment, and I do not grow ill or old or perish.”

He smiled.

“Truly, a superior existence.”

“I-- well,” she said, “I suppose, if you are happy then…”

“I am,” he said, with a wink, “Quite so.”

She was not certain she believed him, but she did not press further.

* * *

The following week came and passed, each payment stranger than the last. Most of them were really quite useless to her, seeing as they were trifles lavished upon her by her bridegroom-to-be. A ring, a necklace, a set of earrings, her apron, her shoes - many of which she honestly found quite garish anyways. Then they would speak to each other, and then he would vanish, and every night she found herself thinking of him. Soon she even found herself looking forward to his visits, and their following conversations.

“Only eighteen more days,” he said, appearing before her, “How fares the bride-to-be?”

She smiled brightly at him, rising from her seat.

“Emet-Selch! I am well,” she said, “In fact, I have a gift for you - do you find it an acceptable payment?”

She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a doll made of straw, handing it to him.

“I figured he won’t miss a little bit,” she said, “It… is supposed to be you.”

He turned it over in his hands, admiring it. He was touched; never had a mortal offered him anything so heartfelt, never in the centuries he spent making dealings with them. His soft smile radiated across his face, and he did not realize he even was smiling until she said something.

“Is… is that acceptable?” she asked, tentatively. 

He snapped out of his daze, collecting himself.

“Yes,” he said, “Yes, this will do.”

He did his work as he did every day, tucking the doll away into his vest pocket - a gesture which did not go unnoticed, though Beetle chose not to mention it.

“It will do… very nicely.”

Her smile caused him to feel a warmth in his bosom, a warmth which he had not felt in a very, very long time.

“Beetle,” he said, “I… I am afraid I must, in fact, leave you now, as I do have business to attend to, but--”

He swallowed, attempting to compose himself.

“--may I visit you this evening? In your chambers?”

She tried to conceal her excited smile, though he could see it - and it admittedly thrilled him.

“Yes! Ahem, yes, feel free. I retire at nine. You will find me there,” she replied.

“I shall see you then,” he said, smiling before he vanished away.

* * *

As Beetle dined with her betrothed, all she could think about was Emet-Selch's imminent visit that would follow. She politely smiled and laughed at her fiance's jests and posturing, but all that could be found on her mind was her newfound friend.

As her betrothed bid her goodnight, kissing her hand, she fleetingly imagined Emet-Selch's lips upon it instead. Foolish, to be sure, but it delighted her nonetheless.

And then night fell, and she sat in her reading chair, clad in her favorite of the nightgowns she had been furnished with, awaiting the sorcerer's return.

"Good evening, my dear," the rich, familiar voice said, as he appeared on her bed, "I take it you are having a pleasant one?"

She smiled, her eyes glimmering as she closed her book.

"Hello, my friend," she said, "Yes. I have had a lovely evening."

A very strange but pleasant moment passed, wordless and still, but full of unspoken affection as they gazed at each other. It lingered heavily in the air, until at last, the sorcerer broke the silence.

"It would indeed appear that things are going quite well for you now," he said, looking all about, "Such a lavish room. And in such a beautiful manor. Everything you could have ever wanted, no?"

"Oh, absolutely," she said, "I especially love the books he has here. I was just reading my favorite one. I've read it twice already, and am on my third read-through."

"Oh? What is it about?" 

"It's a wonderful story," she began, "A story about a hero in search of her long lost beloved. She goes through many adventures, even travels to another world just to find that--- ah, well, I do not wish to spoil. But it is riveting, I assure you."

"I shall take your word for it," he said. 

She placed the book upon the table next to her, and rose out of her seat, making her way towards him. Emet-Selch's chest began to swell as she approached, so lovely she was wrapped in her soft white nightgown. He suddenly bemoaned the fact that he did not think to conjure up something nicer to wear beforehand.

He swallowed as she took his hand in both of hers, and oh, how lovely they were; dainty and sweet, even despite being the well-worked hands of a craftsman. 

"I really cannot thank you enough for your help," she said, tenderly, "I don't know what I would do without you." 

His mouth ran dry as her thumbs grazed over his skin. She had not ever touched him until now, and it felt dizzying; had he forgotten how warm and soft mortal flesh was? How it pulsed with life and movement like a song?

“You,” he began, voice soft, “You need not thank me, my dear. I have fulfilled every wish of yours and taken every payment to my master.”

She gave a mischievous smile.

“All save the doll,” she remarked, “I saw you tuck it into your pocket.”

He stammered, mouth open.

“I,” he said, “I simply wished to admire it before I must give it away. It is very well done, after all.”

“Thank you,” she said, her hands slipping away - and he was lesser for their absence.

“I used to make them with my mother all the time,” she said, “We couldn’t afford to get me a real doll, you see… so that’s what we would do.”

She laughed, pacing about the room.

“Tis funny. I shall be able to buy as many dolls as I want now, but I am no longer a child, and thus shall have no use for them.”

“Perhaps you can give one to your children, if you choose to have any,” he said.

“Perhaps,” she said, “...Yes, actually. I would love to have a child someday. I suppose I would like to have a daughter… if only to give her the kind of life a little girl truly deserves.”

“And what kind of life is that?” he asked.

“A happy one,” she said, “A magical one. Full of stories and music and comfort and love. And enough to eat or drink, of course.”

He gave a small laugh through his nose.

“Yes, that last bit is quite important, I suppose.”

Another comfortable silence fell between them, in which they simply regarded each other, drinking in the other’s presence. Emet-Selch’s mind began to wander as she stood rocking on her heels, and his eyes went with it. He dared not speak, for surely the only word that could possibly leave his lips at this moment was _beautiful_. Beautiful, beautiful Beetle.

“You are staring,” she suddenly said, “Do all you sorcerers stare so?”

He snapped out of his fixation, blinking.

“Ah, I simply… I simply,” he said, the words failing him--

Suddenly, the clock struck ten, and she sighed.

“Ahh, I really must be getting to bed,” she said, “But… you can stay until I fall asleep, if you would like.”

They both blushed.

“I mean, that is to say, if you are not busy, that is,” she said, "If it is not too much trouble. I know you must be bus--"

He waved his hand at her, in a fanciful way, shooing her words away.

"As I have said, I am not that busy," he replied, "Come, off to bed. I shall keep you company until you sleep."

She relaxed, climbing into bed.

"There," he said, placing a pillow beneath her, “Off to sleep, then. You have work to do, a wedding to plan, all that.”

“Do you ever sleep?” she asked, yawning.

He shook his head.

“No. I have no need to.”

“Mm, that’s to bad.”

He smiled, brows furrowed.

“Why ever so?”

“Then you cannot dream,” she replied, “I do so like dreaming. When they are pleasant, of course.”

He felt struck a bit. He could not remember the last time he had dreamed; he could certainly remember what sleep felt like, but not dreams - had he _ever_ had a dream?

“Oh,” Beetle said, yawning again, “I would appear to be more tired than I had originally thought.”

“Sleep, then,” he said, “Get on to your dreams.”

“Mm, I had hoped your visit would be longer, though,” she said.

“Nonsense. I shall simply visit again tomorrow night,” he replied.

She perked up the smallest bit, looking up at him.

“Oh, would you?” 

His lips twitched with a smile.

“Certainly,” he said, “If that is what you wish.” 

“What do I have to pay for it?” she said, a brow raised.

“Aha! Very funny,” he said, “Visits are quite free of charge.”

She began to adjust herself more comfortably, her lids drooping as sleep began to take her.

“Oh, wait,” she said, suddenly, “Tomorrow evening is my fitting for my gown - but… you may come a bit later, if you… still wish to…”

The brief period of wakefulness was fading away just as quickly as it came. Emet-Selch watched on as she drifted off to sleep, transfixed. The way her weight dropped against the bed, her slow, soft breaths, her lashes resting against the tops of her cheeks… all moved him in way he could not rightly describe. Like a long forgotten memory, pulling at the far reaches of his mind.

He stayed with her well into the night, watching her, taking her in. But just before the dawn had even entertained the thought of rising, he gently - _ever_ so gently - laid his hand upon her head, carding his fingers into her hair, sighing at the sensation. Like spun silk, he briefly thought.

And then she stirred, and he swiftly took his hand away, snapping his fingers and leaving. 

* * *

The next day, she offered him the book she had been reading, and he happily took it.

“I must say, you make my job easier with each passing day,” he said.

"You do so much for me; tis the least I could do," she replied.

The way her eyes glowed with warmth caused that stirring he had felt the night before to resurface, and he did not quite know what to make of it.

* * *

The days from then on out went similarly; she would offer him a gift - a flower or a plant here, a trinket or trifle there - and he would happily take them, and visit with her when he could. And every evening, when he stayed with her as she drifted to sleep, he would watch her with the same deep longing. Longing for her presence, for her pleasant and stimulating conversation. For her smile and her eyes gazing back into his, for her soft and lovely stirring as she slept - for her.

He longed for _her._

And soon it came to pass that he could no longer deny the painful, awful truth.

He was in love with her.

Immortal creature, bound to fae, in love with a mortal, fragile being - and a betrothed one, at that. He gave a sad smile as he watched her sleep. Only two more days left, now. Much as it pained him to stay, knowing she would be gone soon, he stayed with her the entire night, far into the small, quiet hours of the morning, as he always did.

* * *

Upon the last day, she gave him a necklace.

“I have taken a necklace from you before, my dear,” he said, “I am afraid this is not a payment I can accept.”

“Oh, I know - it was not meant to be a payment,” she said, “That is simply a gift. For you to remember me by. I know this is almost our last day together, so I thought… I thought you might like it.”

He swallowed, his jaw clenching as he attempted to compose himself.

“Ah,” he managed, with a small smile, “Thank you.”

The words came nearly as a whisper, and he went about his work, turning the straw filling the room to gold once more.

Beetle looked about, exhaling audibly.

“You never cease to amaze me,” she said, “I… will miss the spectacle.”

“Well, you do have one more day,” he said, “There is time to amaze you yet.”

She looked down at her feet, and swallowed.

“I suppose.”

Her voice was soft, flat. Her head stayed bowed for a long moment, and he knelt before her.

“Is aught amiss, my dear?” 

She raised her head, and he was more than a little shocked to see her face wet with spilled tears.

“Oh no, that won’t do,” he said, “Whatever is the matter?”

She shook her head.

“Nothing, nothing,” she said, “Tis merely nerves. Wedding nerves. That is all.”

She quickly composed herself.

“Now, what is your price?” she asked.

He reached for her, brushing his thumb underneath her eye. An eyelash that strayed away clung to his glove, and he pinched it between his fingers.

“This will be sufficient,” he said, tenderly.

It disappeared in that same shower of sparks, and they shared a fond, tender look.

* * *

Never had Beetle recalled ever feeling so torn apart. As she awaited Emet-Selch’s evening visit - his final one - she paced back and forth in her room, thoughts flying every which way. But before she could even begin to unravel them, there he was, standing before her. 

“Oh, hello,” she said.

He pulled something from behind him.

“Forgive me, I realize I am quite late, but,” he said, “I have a gift for you this time - completely free of charge, of course.”

He handed it to her - a blue rose.

“How fascinating,” she said, “I… do not believe they grow in this color, do they?”

He smiled.

“Not in your world, no,” he said, “But they are plentiful in Lord Zodiark’s kingdom. They will not miss one single bloom - no matter how everlasting it may be.”

Beetle blinked.

“Everlasting?”

“Yes. Meaning it will not wither,” he said, “You may keep it for as long as you like. No scary little side effects or tricky fine print. I promise.”

She turned it over in her hands.

“Thank you,” she said, “Tis beautiful. I shall treasure it always.”

The pain in Emet-Selch’s heart - the heart he was not still sure he even had - cut like a knife in his breast. Still, he would not have his own heartache ruining their final night together.

Suddenly, she yawned.

“Oh, no,” she groaned, “I did not want to fall asleep just yet.”

“Nonsense, nonsense,” he said, quickly scooping her up and taking her to bed, “You have a wedding to attend. You require rest.”

“No…” she softly sighed.

He laughed as she settled into bed and began to drop away.

“Sorry,” she groaned, “All the planning… fittings… things… making me tired.”

“Of course, of course,” he cooed, “I understand. Do not worry. You shall see me tomorrow.”

“But not… the evening,” she muttered.

“Hush, hush, do not think of it,” he said, “Sleep so that you may enjoy what little time we have tomorrow.”

“Mm, alright,” she relented, finally dropping away.

And then silence, as he regarded her sleeping figure once more. The rose stayed within her hand, an image that made his heart ache most profoundly.

He stayed for as long as his pain would allow him to, rising from his place to smooth his hand over her hair.

“I shall miss our visits,” he muttered, voice breaking, “I shall miss them dearly.”

He hovered over her, his lips just barely within reach of hers… no, no, it would not be right to kiss her. But his feelings could not remain unspoken, and therefore he whispered, quieter than he could recalling ever whispering anything before:

“I love you,” he said, resting his cheek delicately against hers, “I love you, Beetle.”

He did not feel the single tear that escaped his eye, but escape it did, glowing faintly as it fell upon her cheek and sunk beneath her skin.

And as he left, with one final, wistful look, something stirred within Beetle’s mind. It spun dreams for her, hazy soft visions of warmth and love; and a truth weaved its way like vines into her heart.

And then she awoke with a start, her eyes flickering open. 

“Oh,” she breathed, her hand upon her chest.

_Oh._

Tears poured out of her eyes, and a broad smile spread across her face, and then she suddenly gasped, hopping out of bed.

“Oh, oh dear. I must do something.”

She hurriedly donned her robe and slippers, scampering towards the door.

“I must do something,” she muttered, over and over again, “I must do something.”

* * *

Morning came, and Emet-Selch found himself in her empty bedroom, Beetle standing before him with a soft smile on her face. He looked about, brows furrowed in confusion.

“I do not understand,” he said, “Where is the straw?” 

She drew something from within her pocket.

“Here,” she said, “I would have you turn these to gold.”

He knelt before her, looking within her hand: two rings made of straw.

The breath left his body as he looked upon them.

“I… do not understand,” he breathed.

“Please, Emet-Selch,” she said, “Do this for me.”

He looked into her eyes as he snapped, turning the rings into purest gold.

“Thank you,” she said, “Now--”

She stashed the rings into her pocket, drawing close to him.

“--shall this be an acceptable payment?”

She laid her hands upon his face, pulling him close, her lips pressing gently to his. A jolt ran through his body at her touch, and he froze, his mind bursting with raw feeling. He had forgotten how utterly _soft_ it was, how jarringly tender and warm it was. His mind begged him to push it further, to wrap his arm around her and lock his fingers within her hair, but his body would not obey, much too taken in with the kiss.

She pulled away, and he groaned from her absence, his face following hers.

“Well?” she said.

His eyes slowly opened, his lashes fluttering as he struggled to speak.

“Will that suffice?” she said, a hand at his face, “...Hades?”

He gasped, and suddenly clutched his chest, feeling a strange and very _heavy_ sensation:

Mortality.

Blood rushed through his veins, his heart hammered in his chest, the slight onset of natural fatigue came upon him, and he had never recalled feeling so warm… and when he looked at himself, looked at his hands, they looked… he could not describe it, but somehow they looked more _alive._ Every single part of him, thrumming with life he had long forgotten existed.

“How?” he breathed, barely audible, “I do not… I…”

Beetle took his hands in hers.

“I had a dream,” she said, “You and I were dancing… well, dancing about as well as we could, given our… differences.”

She laughed as she continued.

“But yes, I was in your arms, and our cheeks brushed, and I felt your lips at my ear,” she said, tears beginning to fill her eyes, “And then you whispered ‘I love you’. I heard it clear as day - ‘I love you. I love you, Beetle’.”

His eyes widened. Had she heard…? 

“And I whispered back… ‘I love you as well, Hades’,” she said, “And when I awoke, I knew - that was it. That was your name. And I, I ran all the way across the hall, ran to wake up the man to which I was betrothed--”

“Was?” 

“Yes! You see, I- I could not marry him… knowing the truth I now knew. I told him everything, Hades, and he was so moved… he cancelled the wedding. He told me he dearly hoped he could find a love like that someday, and that it was now his only wish - he cared not at all for the gold I had spun for him. He said it was mine to have. But truthfully, I do not care for it either.”

The tears which ran down her face now matched the ones Hades now cried, each of theirs smattering upon the ground.

“I only care for you,” she said, “You who have been there in my hour of need, to help me, to dry my tears, to fill my loneliest hours… _you_.”

“Now please,” she said, reaching her hand into her pocket for the rings. She took his trembling hand, placing the larger ring upon his finger.

“Never leave my side.”

He looked at the ring with such fondness in his eyes that he could only give one answer:

“As you wish, my dear.”

He drew her tightly into his arms, kissing her with such a fervor that he thought he very well may be lost within it.

There was once a poor young maiden, a greedy nobleman, and a sorcerer bound by duty. Though love was never an expected part of this tale, it is what saved them all. And no love was ever said to have surpassed that of the Weaver and her Bridegroom.


End file.
